Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: Kakashi volunteers to take a mission with Iruka based on idle curiosity, but he discovers more about his fellow shinobi than he originally intended.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Although they can be read independently, this story is actually the first part of a trilogy. The others in the series are "Flesh and Feelings" and "Mythos of a Shepherd."

**Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart**  
by Swiss

* * *

It all began simply enough.

Treading down the main street of Konoha on a rare day of unspoiled idleness, Kakashi had nothing more on his mind than whether or not he was hungry enough to seek food. He'd planned the afternoon in the formless way of the truly unengaged, and currently it held little more than vague notions about finding a tree in a warm patch and lounging in isolation until someone caught him and dragged him back to the mission office.

All of this was altered, however, when he realized he was being hailed. His eyes instantly located his most exuberant student charging down the street, dragging a resisting body behind him. Finding it too late to vanish (read, _run away_), Kakashi was obliged to put on his sensei mask and wait with hands behind his back.

"Hullo, Kakashi-sensei!" Naruto bellowed once he was close enough, halting with a stumble and grinning hugely. The feisty eyesore was attached by the hand to an older shinobi in a chuunin uniform, average looking but instantly recognizable.

The exuberant greeting somehow duped Kakashi into reciprocating; he smiled. "Naruto. Being productive with your time off, I see."

The boy was unimpressed by the reprimand. "Ha, like _you're_ doing anything important!"

Kakashi shrugged. So he wasn't. "What are you up to, then?"

Naruto actually squirmed with happiness. "Sensei and I are gonna get ramen!" he enthused. Kakashi was well acquainted with Naruto's preoccupation with ramen. Today, though, he seemed almost as pleased with his company as he did with the prospect of food.

Kakashi's gaze fell on the shinobi beside his student. Umino Iruka. Dark haired, dark skinned, with that floppy ponytail and seemingly innocuous expression. His eyes gave him away though. They were a shade of deep brown that laid a person's emotions bare to the world. Iruka's were particularly expressive. Now they were saying: "Go-the-hell-away-you-arrogant-usurper."

"Iruka-sensei," Kakashi greeted him with his most charming crescent-eyed smile, but Iruka was intelligent and that only made him look wary. "Off to feed the brat?"

Iruka's hand on his shoulder quieted Naruto's squawk. "To Ichiraku," he agreed.

"It's my favorite," Naruto blurted.

"How startling," Kakashi intoned, as if he hadn't been there with the kid half a dozen times. Not for the first time, he heaved an inward sigh over his lot as a jounin-sensei. Really; the boy had the long-term memory of a flea.

"You could come, Kakashi-sensei," Naruto invited, oblivious to Iruka's doubtful frown. The teacher was far too polite to say so, but it was clear that he would rather do almost anything than socialize with Naruto's current sensei.

And perhaps _because_ of that quietly disapproving look, Kakashi cast aside his former plans and agreed to come along.

They reached the restaurant without incident, and then sat for a while in companionable gluttony until the adults, at least, had reached a stopping point. Naruto, unleashed by the supplementing factor of another's pocketbook, continued to gorge. This natural lull gave Kakashi the perfect opportunity to begin entertaining himself. "So, Sensei," he inquired. "How go things at the academy? I hear graduation is close."

Iruka seemed surprised that he had asked. "Things are going well," he answered after a pause.

"Ibiki was complaining about you yesterday," the copy-nin continued, scratching idly at his cowl as if unaware that he had said anything at all unsolicitous.

"Ah," Iruka-sensei said. His brow was furrowed slightly, but for the moment he seemed mostly perplexed.

"Yes," Kakashi continued. "He's convinced you're stifling the next generation's talent. Something about wiping their snotty noses into the grave."

All of this was only partially true. Kakashi had pulled the particulars from windblown rumors and so-called common knowledge. He hadn't really spoken to Ibiki, who would probably kill him if he knew how his name was being used for slander.

The slight reddening at the curve of Iruka's cheeks was inconclusive; the weather was chilly today. "How…inappropriate of you to be gossiping about me," he said mildly, carefully laying aside his pair of utensils.

The response reminded Kakashi of what he so loved about quirky Iruka-sensei. He always managed to say exactly what he meant, all while managing to be so perfectly inoffensive about it.

Keeping with his act, the jounin gave an unaffected shrug, lounging in his seat as though merely to stretch his back. "Gossiping, Sensei? No, no. Well, I was on your side." He tilted his head so that the whole of his sleepy eye was full on the waiting, pinched face of his quarry. "After all," he concluded, smiling. "No one said training future murderers was easy."

There was an unmistakable twinge at Iruka's right eye. Ah, success.

"Are you angry, Sensei?" Naruto asked suddenly, a partially masticated noodle hanging out of his mouth. The boy's expression seemed to indicate that, while he was familiar with the concept, the possibility frightened him.

Iruka's eyes had narrowed in a way few creatures could provoke. "Hm. Your sensei is of the devil," he stated matter-of-factly.

Naruto's eyebrows rose, "Really, Sensei?"

"Yes, really," was all Iruka answered, and went back to the dredges of his dinner without another word.

Kakashi didn't know whether he felt more pleased or irritated. Antagonizing chuunin was one of his favorite hobbies – as was his right, being so superior in rank and skill. And this one just reacted so wonderfully; nettling silently under his heckling, his normal patient expression shattered completely by just the right words. Hilarious, enjoyable. But also somewhat frustrating, for the same reason it was fun. Iruka was an _unusual_ chuunin. And even Kakashi – Kakashi! – didn't know exactly why.

And that was completely unacceptable.

* * *

Tsunade was looking at Kakashi as though he had sprouted an extra nostril. "Let me get this straight. You want me to assign you to a mission with Umino Iruka?" When he nodded, her expression became, if anything, more suspicious. "Why?"

The copy-nin shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm curious."

"About what?" Tsunade wanted to know, and all of a sudden Kakashi noticed that her reaction was interesting in a different way than he'd anticipated. He'd expected her to be incredulous but indulgent, assigning him to some low-level task with the chuunin as punishment for wasting her time. Instead she seemed to be evaluating him.

Fascinating. He was glad he had elected to go through with this instead of his usual sojourn with pornography. Affecting an air of nonchalance, he made a non-committal motion with this hands, "I've been spending some time with him and Naruto lately."

Tsunade seemed to be considering what to read into this. After a pause, she asked him, "Are you sure?"

The unexpectedness of the question halted Kakashi momentarily. Sure? Surely she didn't think he couldn't deal with a piddling C or B rank. Or maybe it was his (admittedly) unpredictable junior she thought he couldn't handle. Either way, he was sure he should be insulted.

Reading the answer in his face, the Godaime nodded gravely and gave her assent. "Alright."

* * *

Iruka had eyed him in much the same way the Hokage had when he delivered the sealed scrolls with their mission assignments later that week. Denial had played on his face first, followed swiftly by annoyance and finally a blank refusal.

"I don't want to go on a mission with you," he said frankly. "I would rather fester with disease."

Kakashi looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if he meant it. Probably not. But even if he did, there was always their orders. He poked at the scroll cradled unwillingly in the teacher's hands. "Mm. Directly from the Hokage. I don't think you'll be able to get out of it, Sensei."

Iruka cast him an irritable look, but hesitantly unrolled the scroll. There was a delicately curving symbol inked in it's center; a security seal. The jounin wasn't sure if he imagined the slight slouch in the younger man's shoulders at the sight of it. "Ah," was all he said, and sighed softly. A keen eye turned to Kakashi, no longer belligerent but sharp and interested. It was a strange expression to see on his face.

"Kakashi," he asked. "Did the Hokage speak with you specifically about this mission?"

Did the old hag ever? "No," he replied.

Tsunade had given him almost no information at all about the nature of their task. He remembered a file on her desk, and that after she had agreed to his request she had pulled it in front of her and leafed through it thoughtfully. He'd had to endure long moments of her delicately thrumming nails before she'd finally looked up at him and pierced him with a glare that might have been fatal to a lesser mortal.

"I'm going to give you a mission with him, Kakashi. It isn't a decision I make without reservations, but the fact remains that _this_," she tapped the folder lightly. "Isn't going to wait for a more suitable shinobi to become available. Iruka needs a partner."

Unconsciously, the copy-nin had straightened, a soldier. "Whatever the assignment, it will be accomplished, Lord Hokage," he promised.

The Godaime had not looked impressed. "I'm going to be very clear, brat," she said in her usual brusque, no-nonsense manner. "If you choose to take this mission, you will be responsible for getting him to your destination and back, _alive_, if it doesn't inconvenience you. Iruka knows what's expected of him once you've reached your coordinates. He's uniquely suited for this, so let him do his job." He remembered her eyes, somber brown. She'd said, "I know you're not used to taking a backseat, so just remember that you asked for this. Try not to make me regret it…or let Iruka pay for it."

Cryptic words, no further explanation. It was enough to make him salivate with curiosity. They were going to Shi-Tane, a costal town not far to the southeast, and he was to defer to Iruka for the time being. Apparently, whatever their objective was, the chuunin had done it before.

All this pleased Kakashi. He had meant for them to have a mission together only so he could find out a little more about the strange teacher-nin – techniques, disposition, whatever. Yet now it seemed he would learn more than anticipated.

They met early the next morning and left long before the sun, angling diagonally towards the coast through the wood. It was crisp and cold amidst the long, early shadows, and the leftover leaves were embroidered with frost. They didn't speak much as they traveled. Occasionally, Kakashi would attempt to goad his travel partner into an outburst, but Iruka seemed to have steeled himself against such petty behavior, because not even the most juvenile remarks about his profession, his brats, or his personal hygiene produced any noteworthy response.

In the end, what information he gathered about the teacher during the first part of their trip came from random occurrences and odd behavioral quirks.

For example, he had discovered that Iruka was a decent cook, an early riser, and slept on his stomach at night. Slightly more interesting was how observing Iruka explained some of his students' little peculiarities. Sakura's conscientious conservation of charka, for one. The teacher used as little as possible, though whether it was a preference of his style or a necessary limitation of his physical body, Kakashi wasn't sure. He also hummed when he ate. Kakashi hated when Naruto did that.

They did have one noteworthy conversation, only a few days into their journey, as they were preparing to settle in for a few hours of sleep. They weren't yet close enough to civilization to need to be especially wary, and it was by the light of a carefully monitored fire that Kakashi noticed Iruka come across something in his pack that seemed to surprise him. The other man withdrew a folded paper, grinning as he flipped it open with his thumb.

"What's that?" Kakashi asked, intrigued by the chuunin's softened expression.

Iruka glowed dimly with pleasure. "It's a come-home-quick-and-don't-die card," he explained fondly.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. As appropriate as that sounded for a ninja village… "I didn't know they sold such things," he commented.

Chuckling, the teacher careful rotated the crayon-scrawled treasure. There seemed to be things sticking to it, inexpertly glued. He fluttered a spotted pink ribbon with one finger. "No," he said. "This is definitely an original."

"Naruto?" Kakashi wagered a guess.

"Actually no," Iruka answered as he carefully repacked the card. "Naruto's not the only little brat that eats my food, you know." Then, because he seemed to think a bit more explanation was needed, he clarified, "I keep a couple of kids off and on during the week. They claim they miss me when I'm gone."

Kakashi pondered this new information, not entirely sure how a person kept kids "off and on." But then he caught the meaningful look Iruka directed towards him and realized. Oh. Kids that kept up with themselves. Orphans. Konohagakure certainly had its share.

"So is that what you do? Raise kids?" Kakashi couldn't understand wanting such a life. He didn't understand the young, possibly because he'd had little enough time for that phase of life himself. How could any kind of warrior be happy with changing diapers and soothing tears?

Iruka's eyes darkened, almost sadly. "You think less of me for it."

If Kakashi was honest, he would have admitted that he did. "I just assumed that those things – nurturing children, taking care of babies – it's not something men are supposed to be suited for. And we're not just any men. We're nin."

The chuunin looked thoughtful for a long moment. Then, his chin high, he faced Kakashi squarely. "What do you love, then?" he asked.

It shouldn't have been a hard question. His immediate answer might have been that he enjoyed his books, but raising children just made porn seem ignoble. And his work? Being a good cog in the machine meant maintaining one's professionalism. The only other option was to go crazy from blood-lust or grief. So, no, he didn't _love_ it.

So what did that leave for him?

The realization seeped into him slowly, dew into hardened ground. He had no right to criticize. "Fine," he muttered, "But if it's true that's your life, then what do you have left for yourself? Icha Icha Paradise and sleeping late may not change the world, but it's something to separate _Sharingen_ Kakashi from just…Kakashi."

There was a long moment between them when the quiet night echoed. It was almost as if Iruka had no answers, but that wasn't true because suddenly he began to speak. He said, "I enjoy swimming. I like visiting hot springs on the rare occasion I have the time and money. But it's true that most of the time those things are trumped by Naruto and my students. Even so, the sacrifices are worth it. _They're_ worth it."

Kakashi couldn't stop the snide remark that came to his lips. "Orphan complex. Feel the need to save the whole world."

"No," Iruka snapped. "Compassion complex. Born into the wrong profession. Too bad being a ninja and showing mercy are such mutually exclusive concepts. It's a good thing I've already come to terms with my life as a failure."

And just as spontaneously as the sprout of goodwill had been fostered between them, it dried up in a heap. Kakashi regretted it immediately, irritated with own hasty words and with this teacher's oversensitivity. Irked to have to do so but resolved, he scratched at the place where his cheek met his mask and muttered, "I'm sorry."

Iruka snorted, and jabbed their little fire hard enough that a weakening abscess collapsed with a pop and an avalanche of ash. But a margin of tension eased from his shoulders and he didn't turn so far away.

"You're awfully annoying," the man said, and Kakashi rolled his eyes. This was what he got for an apology?

"You're weird," he countered, but Iruka only shrugged.

In a way it was a turning point. Unflinching honesty wasn't the only ingredient of a well-founded friendship, but it _was_ one ingredient.

* * *

It grew colder as they traveled south. Without the protection of the thick foliage, the wind was a bitter discomfort, and some nights it made keeping a fire impractical. Kakashi had discovered that Iruka couldn't be trusted with fire; he had burned himself twice already tending it. Even he had to admit, though, that when they'd almost lost a folded blanket to a burst of ember it was no one's fault but the elements.

Which was how they found themselves still a few days short of their destination in a partially sheltered grove, huddled closer together than they would usually have found comfortable. Kakashi rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles. He appreciated the warmth burning off of his companion. Training had taught him to endure any conditions stoically, but Iruka wasn't jounin or ANBU. _He_ had no notions about staring at one another with icy endurance across a barren stretch of ground or hiding his physical reaction to the weather.

"Oh, I hate the cold," he'd stated frankly when they'd stopped for the night and it become clear they would have no tendered blaze. Then, oblivious to his partner's farcical look of sleepy-eyed indifference, he had proceeded to shove into the space that had been previously occupied by Kakashi's ribs. Thus they'd settled shoulder to shoulder for the night.

In a way, the closeness was a nice change from the low-key tension that had followed them through most of the journey. Iruka had drawn his legs close and almost fallen asleep on them. Still partially opened, his dark eyes seemed more tired than grouchy.

Too pass the time, Kakashi threaded his fingers into his jacket and withdrew a brightly colored volume. It fell open with a sigh against his thumb, so well used that the binding was as loose as a hinge. He'd been reading for at least a quarter hour before he was interrupted by a seeking hand. Surprised, Kakashi nonetheless handed over the book, a grin already starting in anticipation of the teacher's reaction to his reading material.

Idly, Iruka flipped through the pages. "This is obscene," he commented after a moments perusal.

Kakashi had to smirk. The response was just so _Iruka_. Gently, he teased, "Don't tell me you haven't even peeked at any of them, Sensei. You couldn't have been born a prude."

Surprisingly, the chuunin didn't huff or get angry. He shrugged. It was an altogether _infuriating_ reaction, because it gave away nothing. Kakashi was convinced the chuunin had done it on purpose.

"You could just ask me."

Off guard from the sudden question, it was with genuine curiosity that Kakashi inquired, "Ask you what?"

"Whatever it is you want to know," Iruka said.

Kakashi refused to acknowledge the perceptive remark, focusing instead on the detailed pattern of late autumn leaves against the packed ground. There was a different variety than near Konoha; he liked the delicate silvery yellow ones, semi-transparent and thin as spears.

The derailment called for a switch in conversation, so Kakashi offered up an observation from their travels. From the beginning they had followed meandering footpaths and declined the second-story pathways of the greater forest. So close to the coast, that route was no longer available, but still it puzzled him. So he said, "We aren't moving very quickly."

Iruka rubbed the ridge of his nose, the direction of his gaze falling over the shadowy webs in the foliage and rather pointedly away from his companion. "I'm not in any particular hurry," he confessed. Then, because such a statement deserved an explanation, he added, "It won't affect the outcome. It won't matter if it takes us an extra week."

Kakashi was Intrigued; most missions were time-sensitive. "I don't suppose you're ready to tell me just what we're heading toward?" he asked. It wasn't hard to press a little humor into his voice to lighten the demand, but the vein of steel beneath it was only partially hidden.

The chuunin just looked at him with eyes that seemed to darken as he watched, swallowing up his secrets. He said, "No." Then he turned away, but not before handing back the book.

"You'll have to tell me eventually," Kakashi coaxed, brushing off his irritation at being hedged. "We're partners."

Iruka disillusioned him. "Wrong. You're my _escort_."

Kakashi grimaced at what had to have been a deliberate barb. Like any self-respecting shinobi, he loathed escort missions as a general principle. Kakashi was all about the odd, however. And this mission, like Iruka himself, was odd.

Frustrated by the lack of answers, Kakashi attempted to sink back into his usual solitary torpor, adjusting his back against the tree to soak up what doubtful comfort he could manage and bringing up his book to his face. Iruka's voice floated to him from his position nearby. "I used to read out loud to Naruto at night. He was a late reader, you know."

Kakashi hadn't. Those kinds of lessons were long before his time, and anyway he wasn't much concerned with his students' academic wellbeing. Still, the unprompted divulgence offered him a spark of wicked inspiration. His lips quirking, he asked, "Will you read to me, Sensei?"

"From that? No." Iruka snorted. He tucked his arms between his chest and his knees, drawing himself comfortably inward. Then he yawned. "I refuse to get involved with such trash. You'll have to entertain yourself."

Theatrically moping, but not without amusement, Kakashi did as directed.

* * *

Moving leisurely, it took the pair another four days to make it to the little fishing village, Shi-Tane. It was a homely place built around an inlet like a finger-scrapping out of the shale and shoreline. Kakashi looked down on it without much interest. Whatever they were here to do, he doubted it was there.

Iruka seemed pensive. He too was looking down the cliff face, but his eyes were directed more towards the sea than the subdued bustle of the town. It was an almost wistful expression.

"Iruka," Kakashi summoned his attention. Firmly, he requested, "We've expired my mission details. It's time that you explain why we're here."

A shift and a reflexive motion of one hand, as though he'd have liked to wave off the request. But before the jounin could insist, Iruka was nodding. "The truth is," he began, "I'm angry with Tsunade-sama for going along with this. I didn't want you to come on this mission."

This odd response first of all indicated that Iruka _knew_ Kakashi had requested to be placed with him. Nonplussed, Kakashi asked, "How did you find out?"

"I asked Tsunade-sama," Iruka admitted, and the copy-nin gave him a withering look. 'Asking' was very un-ninja like. Almost like cheating. But the teacher turned his nose up at the rebuke. "Please," he said dryly, "Not everything has to be about subterfuge."

Kakashi detected a slight bunching around his eyes as he spoke, though. It resembled melancholy, or maybe irony. Iruka continued after a moment.

"I'm almost always placed with certain people, so I knew it couldn't be a random assignment. I was sure that you hated me, so I couldn't figure why you would request such a thing." Perplexed, he asked. "The Hokage didn't have a real answer. Will you tell me why?"

"I wanted to irritate you," Kakashi said, and it was almost the truth. He wasn't sure why it almost shamed him now, though possibly it had something to do with the way the other man seemed to wilt with his words.

"I see," Iruka said. Then he straightened, his face shifting. "That's fine. In fact, it should make things easier."

Curiosity strong in him once more, the jounin shifted closer. "What is this mission, Iruka?"

The chuunin did not hesitate like before. "We're here to reconnoiter a possible group of insurgents. The Hokage and the others believe they are threatening to Konohagakure." His head bowed, and he finished quietly, "The goal is ultimately their complete elimination."

Kakashi took a moment to resettle these parameters in his mind. Complete elimination of a _potential_ threat. It was the kind of activity most of Konoha's people were privileged to believe didn't happen, and it also explained the high security clearance. But he still didn't understand why the two of them had been sent to accomplish it. Iruka seemed all wrong for such a task.

"It's been pretty well established that their camp is located near here," the chuunin continued to share out details. "We'll spend a couple of days watching them before taking any action. I hope to be heading home in less than a week, but getting us back will be largely your responsibility, Kakashi."

The copy-nin's eyebrow quirked, but he remained quiet.

* * *

Iruka had insisted on a brief stop in the little village near their quarry. The jounin thought it was extremely unwise and said so, but then the teacher had _looked_ at him and so he'd let the stubborn, suicidal chuunin do as he pleased while Kakashi waited nearby, establishing their camp.

Iruka wasn't gone very long, only a few hours, and when he returned he was smiling much more easily than he had been earlier in the morning.

"You look pleased with yourself," Kakashi commented wryly. He frowned disapprovingly as he eyed the prominently displayed leaf hitai-ate tied around the younger man's forehead. Who, by the way, seemed _more_ than usually young today for some reason. The copy-nin studied him carefully, trying to discern what created the impression.

There were little things: His forehead plate was knotted inexpertly, like a nin who hadn't seen much field work might tie it – it would come loose during any heavy exertion. Also, Kakashi could tell were his weapons were easily. The shirt he'd changed into before he left seemed looser, and two of the buttons on his jacket were undone. He looked…ruffled and inexpert. More, Kakashi suddenly realized, like he would expect a desk-working chuunin to look.

But he didn't understand. Because if there was anything Iruka-sensei _wasn't,_ it was slovenly and inexpert. Which led to the question. Why? This wasn't discrete. It was deliberately not so.

"Well, that's done," the chuunin exhaled, casually pulling off his ill-fitting gear and replacing it with his previous uniform. He tugged off his hitai-ate. "Now we just need to survey the camp. I gather its just an hour or two south of here. All one unit, too, thank the Hokage. There were so many of them that I worried they might have split camp."

Many. What exactly was meant by that? Just _many_, as in you-take-two and I'll-take-two? Or _many, many_ – as in more than could easily be dealt with? Camp splitting seemed to indicate a lot of manys. Kakashi sighed. Best just to get this over with. He stood and stretched, ready to exercise a little stealth. "So, how are we doing this, Sensei?"

Iruka scratched behind one ear, averting his eyes. "Er. Actually, neither of us are going anywhere just yet."

There was a pause. "What?"

More fidgeting. "Ah. Well, you see, this really has to be done a certain way, and…but you've sort've…oh." The chuunin seemed to deflate, looking unsure.

It was peculiar, and interesting. "So, neither of us will be going to investigate the enemy camp?"

"Well," Iruka began.

"But you do plan for it to get done somehow?"

"Y-yes."

Kakashi entwined his fingers together behind his back, amused by the extreme discomfort his companion was currently exhibiting. This was bound to be good. He requested, "Pray tell. How?"

The condescending note in his voice seemed to eke through the chuunin's hesitance, because Iruka stopped fidgeting and turned red-faced. It was a flare of temper Kakashi was familiar with and he crossed his arms, waiting.

The chuunin gave him a briefly defiant look, but it quickly faded under what looked like nervousness and embarrassment. He brought his hands together, folding them expertly. The words came out whispered under this breath, too fast and soft for Kakashi to hear.

And then suddenly he was among a small multitude.

Kakashi whistled low. Eight. Too many for a regular shadow clone technique. He lifted his hitai-ate just slightly, eyeing them to be certain. Yes, definitely not the regular breed.

"Iruka-sensei," he commented, deliberately infusing an 'aren't-you-naughty' quality to his voice. He reached out to prod the nearest clone, which recoiled with a scowl and glared at him. He grinned. "You've been keeping secrets."

The chuunin seemed pained. "Naruto's got it in his head that we're a clan. So I indulged him with a few family tricks and he insisted I learn the Tajou Kage Bunshin no Jutsu. I tried to explain that perhaps I _shouldn't_ learn a forbidden jutsu (which, of course, only confused him), but then he looked so sad, and he kept saying that he had a lot to make up for since I taught him so _many_ jutsu, and so I…caved."

He wouldn't admit it, but the copy-nin was amused. "Thus," he indicated the fidgeting, temperamental doppelgangers.

"Yes. This is as many as I can make, however. I just don't have Naruto's charka stores."

"Who does?" Kakashi wanted to know. He was glad of his mask, because he thought the sensitive teacher might think he was teasing if he saw his grin. Naruto's clan techniques, indeed. What a bag of tricks. Good-naturedly, he cautioned, "Be careful, Sensei, or next he'll be wanting to teach you the sexy-no-jutsu."

Not surprisingly, Iruka flushed red, but then his eyes ducked, chagrinned. "Uh," he admitted, sounding more than a little mortified. "Actually, Naruto may have picked that one up from me."

It was a good thing Kakashi had been trained to impassivity; his eyes didn't bulge in the slightest. "Sensei?"

The teacher looked ready to melt in humiliation. "I actually created something similar to that jutsu when I was younger. Mission-related of course! But as a child Naruto used to spend a lot of time around me. It's possible he saw me use it once or twice and got the idea in his head for his more…sordid pranks."

The implication was that Iruka had not designed the move for dishonorable purposes, but now Kakashi wasn't even sure he believed him. Make that the Umino-Uzumaki Clan Techniques. He decided it had a ring to it.

"What else did you teach that brat that I ought to thank you for?"

The chuunin's flush was leaving off embarrassment and becoming something more like indignation. "You're the one who taught him that technique for stripping people to their underwear. You have no right to complain."

"Conceded," Kakashi put up his hands. He might normally have ventured an inquiry about the true origins of the sexy-no-jutsu, but the teacher showed unexpectedly potent murderous qualities when he was feeling stung, and currently his glowering expression was sending off waves of warning. Instead, he asked, "So you're a clan of two. I've never heard of such a thing."

He had also never heard of _fabricating_ a clan of unrelated individuals, but that aside...

Iruka shrugged. "He was feeling lonely and left out, I think. Clan identity was so important to my students at that age. Neither of us have family, so I suppose it just never occurred to him that blood relatedness ought to be a factor. When I tried to insist that I cared for all my students, he got upset that Sasuke was part of the family – insisted we throw him out."

"Naruto's weird," Kakashi commented seriously.

"Yeah," the teacher grinned. "But also special."

Kakashi coughed, "Special," but then Iruka was glaring at him again and he knocked it off. Though not without a private thought that probably weirdness passed down through families.

* * *

They spent another night under the sky, chilly and black like only the winter firmament could be. Iruka reached for their pack and began rooting around inside it. For dinner, it became clear a moment later, when two packaged ration bars appeared between his fingers. Kakashi frowned. Too close to the enemy for a fire, thus more dehydrated nutrition. Yummy.

They settled in under the patchy forest canopy, arranged near one another but not so close as to feel smothered. The copy-nin's mind grinded as he worried away at the processed food block, wondering about all that he'd learned that day. Iruka ate slowly, taking small bites.

"I've never known shadow clones with so much personality, Sensei." Kakashi broke the silence, finally. The group had spent most of the time huffing and frowning at him before being sent off.

Iruka shrugged a shoulder. "I don't think they're very special, aside from being forbidden. Aren't yours that way?"

The jounin didn't wonder that Iruka knew he was also capable of the Tajou Kage Bunshin no Jutsu. Undoubtedly the boy he had copied the technique from had told his beloved teacher so. Like Iruka, Kakashi couldn't create the thousands Naruto seemed capable of, though he'd always managed more than eight. He had noticed they were a different breed of clone, of course – a little sturdier, a little more independent. But he had never used the technique for anything other than combat situations, and so they were never around long enough for him to discover anything truly unusual about them.

Like, apparently, that they were capable of antipathy.

It made sense that Iruka would use his doppelgangers for reconnaissance. It was a common application of the more usual version of the skill. But usually the bodies were sent merely to see and then disappear, allowing their origin to absorb what they had learned. Iruka apparently had something more detailed in mind, though he had kept to himself exactly what.

Just then a particularly hard kernel cracked against his teeth, and Kakashi moaned, rubbing his jaw. He spat, scowling at the last few bites of his ration bar. "Couldn't you have brought back something decent to eat from that village since you insisted on visiting?" he complained.

"Actually, I did buy you something," came the unexpected answer. Iruka reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a narrow hardback in a glossy, colorful binding. It was roughly the same size and shape of an Icha Icha volume.

Kakashi's reaction of astonished pleasure was curtailed almost immediately by the certainty that Iruka would never, _never_ bring him back one of _those_ books. What, then, had he bought?

"_Night Voices_," Iruka quoted softly. "They're poems. Some of my favorites. I thought they might be a nice substitute for your usual reading material."

Kakashi accepted the offering dubiously, unsure what to do with it once it was in his hands. On the front cover was a silhouette of a winter tree, bare and black against a sky with a moon and a pool of water full of stars. A soft pink image of a flower was pressed into the upper left corner. The jounin wrinkled his nose at it.

Clumsily, he rotated the little book in his hands. Iruka paid no attention to his examination, apparently lost in thought. Seeing that abstracted look on his face reminded him of a past conversation, and on a whim Kakashi reached out to prod the chuunin gently with the edge of the cover. Unsure, the teacher looked at the offering, bemused.

"Read me something," Kakashi requested.

He'd half expected to be refused, but instead Iruka lifted the volume from his hands and flipped through it slowly. "Ah," he voiced softly after a moment, separating two pages and spreading them down over his lap. His voice was a lull, low and smooth. He read:

"_Irreconcilable we were,_

_as nettle and burr._

_Unalike as bramble and a flower,_

_Or so we thought for an hour._

_Until we realized that we are,_

_Like the sun and a star,_

_Strangely together and uniquely apart.  
_

_Like a symphony and a song,_

_Like something right and something wrong,_

_Like dewdrops and a mist,_

_Like all the ones that you miss.  
_

_Like minutes in an hour,_

_Like kisses and a flower,_

_Like rainbows mixed with thunder,_

_Like a family torn asunder.  
_

_Like a hope and a fear,_

_whether we be far or near,_

_The relationship is there,_

_Like a breath and the air.  
_

_Like a ring without a barer,_

_We're something less if not together._

_Like a thought without a voice,_

_Or a decision without a choice.  
_

_Like a keen and a cry,_

_Like a moan and a sigh,_

_Like a voice and the wind,_

_Like the things we believe in._

_Like teardrops and terror,_

_We'll be bound here forever,_

_Strangely together and uniquely apart."  
_

When it was over, they both sat in the evening's deep, abiding quiet. Silence had lungs in the wood at night, even the brushy, unimpressive sort one found here – it was a sigh, and a hundred undistinguishable phantom sounds. Kakashi broke it with his own voice only reluctantly. "What is it called?" he asked. "The poem."

Iruka closed the book, held it loose in one hand. "The same as the repeated line," he answered. "_Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart._"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Late the next afternoon, one of Iruka's clones rejoined them. It carried a crumpled parchment firmly in one first. After a brief pause in which Kakashi's mind struggled with the two identical Iruka-sensei standing face to face, he sauntered over to join them and attempted to peer over the clone's shoulder.

The thing gave him the ugliest look.

"What's your problem?" Kakashi muttered.

"They can't speak," Iruka told him, gesturing for the creature and adding in an undertone, "Though they bleed fine." He considered his mirror image's mournfully outstretched hands and tsked over the little nicks. Then the doppelganger gave Iruka's face an affectionate pat before scowling at Kakashi and disappearing in a dull white puff.

Kakashi watched the misty tendrils fade. "Your doppelgangers don't like me," he commented, coming to were Iruka was calmly looking over the parchment fragment. The chuunin shrugged a shoulder, but didn't seem inclined to apologize.

"I can't make them as sophisticated as Naruto's." He crinkled the paper, shifting to slip something into a vest pocket. "They're emotional."

It wasn't very encouraging to discover that Iruka's various uninhibited doubles hated him for some reason, but Kakashi decided he could get over it. "What did it bring you?"

"A contingency plan," Iruka responded, then turned to face him. "Ready to go?"

They traveled swiftly. Since his doppelgangers had passed this way before, Iruka knew exactly where they were heading and lead them confidently. Kakashi smelled the camp before he saw it. Faintly, the human scents flooded him – smoke, soap, oil, hair. They were fortunate in the wind tonight.

Iruka lead him around to a high covey, so fragmented with darkness that it disappeared in the bramble and brush. Kakashi would have stumbled past it unaware if his comrade had not taken him by the hand. Seals, he noticed as soon as they were crouched among the niche of stone and foliage. He saw the little papers rolled carefully around the branches. Iruka, with the aid of his clones, had planned for them to come here.

They were pressed so close together in the forbidding blankness of the night that Kakashi felt Iruka's heartbeat. The chuunin's mood had darkened as they traveled, and now it was a fortification around him.

"There they are," he said quietly. "Now all that's left is to finish it."

Kakashi leaned out into the cold quiet, peering in the way of Iruka's nod. He saw the compound beneath them immerge like the dim glow of a lantern, seeming to grow lighter and more clear as his vision adjusted. When the truth was revealed, he couldn't help stretching his one visible eye – disbelief was in it, and if not fear, then the experienced wariness of a hunter.

It was more than a motley following of discontents, more than two, a few, or any small many. There was more than a dozen, more than _two_ dozen. He sensed the life thrumming even in those he could not see, hidden in the large, neatly erected tents. At least forty souls, almost exclusively ninja – even the boys that he could see, tossing stones in idle play. And especially the sentinels, purposefully roving.

Below him was no untrained rabble or undisciplined civilians. It was a shinobi village, albeit a fledgling one, altogether fortified and strong. Beyond their strength.

"We have to get back to Konoha," Kakashi whispered tersely, biting down on the incredulity he felt. How could this have gone so long a secret? "We need to tell the Hokage, as quickly as we can."

There was a soft hiss beside him. Iruka said, "That's not our mission."

Surprised, Kakashi turned to him, and the look on his face was as set as marble, though his jaw was clinched to show that his resolve did not equate happiness.

"Iruka," Kakashi said, quiet but firm. "Short of an army, no force could defeat so many."

The chuunin's pupils were so large that in the darkness he almost seemed to have pits instead of eyes. Grimly, he said, "We're ninja, Kakashi. I don't intend to engage them in battle."

Though the connection remained unmade, Kakashi felt the twist of little black claws in his gut, wrenching. Something… And suddenly, the question that had spawned this whole trip seemed very urgent. "Iruka," he asked, "What do you do? What are you 'uniquely suited' for?"

It was a little like looking into a well. Iruka answered, "Surviving."

Kakashi could think of no positive interpretation for this response. Highly honed instinct was wailing inside him, snapping and rattling its cage. The first art of the ninja warrior was to know when to run away. They needed to retreat for now. Tentatively, he reached to fist Iruka's arm, ready to pull him away if necessary. "Iruka, we have to go back. The Hokage – "

But with uncharacteristic brutality, Iruka snapped, "_Don't be a fool_! Do you think she doesn't already know?"

Knew; the Godaime had to have known. It came to him on a thunder of numbness, though his mind still whirled, seeking sense. He said, "You can't mean to go down there yourself. Even together it would be suicide."

Iruka shook his head roughly. "You cannot come with me. I only brought you here in case…in case you have to deliver word to Konoha after all." The terrible fierceness of his glare was enough to make any protest Kakashi might have made die stillborn in his mouth.

Fixing aphotic, impassioned eyes on the white-haired copy-nin, Iruka punctuated his words so they were clear between them. "Go back to the camp near the village, Kakashi. It will take me a few days to complete this mission. Once I've finished, I'll meet you." There were more instructions, too well practiced and inviolable to be ignored: "If I'm not back in five days, you should go home without me. By that time, there won't be any point in a rescue."

"What are you saying?" Kakashi said. It wasn't in him to leave a comrade to death. And _death_ was what Iruka was proposing for himself.

"Trust that I know what I'm doing," the chuunin said. His eyes flicked in the direction of the village, just a little wildly. He seemed to struggle to bring his emotions under control. After a moment, he seemed to have succeeded.

"Kakashi." His words were slow. "We've never been friends, really. But I'm not sorry that you came on this mission now. Maybe because of Naruto. He's like a cat." He chuckled, but his smile was a stricken thing. "That is to say, a surprisingly good judge of character."

"Iruka –" Kakashi began.

Iruka just shook his head sadly. "I know that you don't understand, and you have every right to doubt my abilities. But the Hokage didn't send me here with nothing in mind. You can believe this." He said it like a promise, and though his lips trembled slightly, he looked like a man resolved unto death. His words wavered slightly when he spoke again, as though deeply troubled. "Probably you won't think too much of me later. I just…I'm sorry."

There was nothing to say to that. Kakashi was a whirl of incomprehension and dread.

"Please, keep this from Naruto," Iruka begged at last, and then bowed his head farewell and slipped into the pitch.

* * *

Iruka was a deliberate shadow as he slipped closer to the compound, placing his feet carefully. With the arch of one foot he allowed a dry stick to snap, sounding just above audibility in the echoing colonnade.

A feeble wind made the leaves clink and ripple, murmuring softly to him as he passed. He placed his hand against one bleached-white trunk and grinned. The trees here were timid, but friendly. He sent a thrill of charka through one and sensed it shiver, all the way the top. Satisfied, he nodded. "Call your masters," he told it. "If they don't already know."

Leaving the thicket of peeling woods, he moved deeper into enemy territory, sinking as he did into a careful posture. But not perfect. He broke another branch, and for a moment the world was soundless except for the pulse of his own blood.

A flicker and a breath was all the warning he had.

He responded a half-beat too late and the ground erupted. Throwing his body backward, he avoided being seized and drawn under, but his jump was awkward. It was disorienting to be so completely grounded. Here the battlefield was a winter thicket, without platform or retreat. The spindly trees couldn't even be braced against. It was too easy to be surrounded.

A half-seen body darted in, taking advantage of his lost equilibrium, and he was slammed backwards. There was a grinding crunch as a thin trunk splintered against the weight of his body. The long needles of wood got under his jacket and into his skin. All around him, opponents converged, like shadows joining into a greater darkness.

So close to the compound light had percolated into the air like water through black ink. Grey arched around him now like smoke, and he could see the stalking warriors better. Two assailants attacked suddenly as one, but Iruka's fingers were flying even as they left the ground. The frost flew up to his defense, a swirl, a barrier of water made of ice. Lacerated, surprised, his opponents fell back. He heard them cursing, weeping crimson onto the ground.

There was a screech in the night as he caught a blade on the hilt of his own, and a shower of stars sprayed from the grinding metal. A talented bladesman engaged him, forcing him back at the edge of a knife. He was a whirl of shinning metal and fierce eyes, but Iruka defended with a flawless aptitude, an endless cycle of parry, return.

Frustration built in Iruka's opponent as none of his blows came through. He was young, and as the strikes grew wilder with anger, the teacher deliberately left open his heart. The boy lunged. An ill-fated move; Iruka twisted his torso, sidestepping like a pale blur so that, overextended, the shining kunai flew into open air. In that half-second, in a movement so swift that time seemed like static, Iruka's own hand wrenched the handle and took the weapon from its owner. A wail as the twist crunched bones. Hands weren't meant to bend that way.

There was no time to appreciate his victory. Dust kicked up from the earth, forcing Iruka to draw up his arms and shield his eyes. Squinting, he saw the wolves before him, but the true enemy came from behind. A sound like displaced air roared at his back amidst the unrelenting sandstorm, and then the sensation of looming, of hot breath at the base of his neck, and every hair on his body stood on end. Arms drew around him like an embrace.

His lungs seized when the grip restricted, drawing his toes off the ground. Without traction, Iruka was too easy to hold, both his wrists braced tight against his own chest by one giant hand. The other cupped his chin, forcing his head back. A soft chuckle in his ear, the same warm breath, and then the thick, sinewy fingers shifting to brace against the delicate bones of his neck, ready to wrench…

He squirmed, whimpering – felt the hesitation of the death-bringing hand, knew the momentary pleasure trickling over his captor's features. Human predators enjoyed struggle, liked the feel of helpless resistance. The hesitation was enough.

"Hold, we need him alive," came an authoritative voice. Ah, there was Sense, Iruka thought. He made a show of panting, thrashing – vainly, vainly. The heavy grip tightened, and now there were others. Someone dragged his chin down, leaving tracks in the blood. "That's the one." The smooth voice spoke, but the face was indistinct, wavering. "Taking him back to the village. Akasugi's waiting."

A sudden incredible increase in pressure, and Iruka felt his ribs bend, lungs folding within his own body so that he jerked with an involuntary sound. It took him a moment to realize he was suffocating, unable to swallow air. Only when his vision was red was he released, and then his arms were bound even as he hit the ground. He was scrabbling for purchase when another snagged his hair and kicked him mercilessly in his upraised face. Stars again, but this time not from his weapon.

He smiled a little dazedly as they carried him back to their master. _'Akasugi,'_ he swallowed the name whole, repeating it in a mind struggling for comprehension. It shouldn't have sounded familiar, but it did.

They brought him to the compound and threw him roughly to the dirt. Flames had sprung up since last he saw it, illuminating the grounds before the tents in fluctuating burnt orange colors. A dozen or more torches. The quiet village had sloughed off its sleepy façade; it was awake as though it had been waiting for hours. Decades of faces, grim in a wavering circle. Indistinctly, Iruka noticed their short hair, and the azure bands wrapped proudly around their foreheads.

His vest was dumped at a man's feet, along with his shirt and the weapons they had peeled from his body. Iruka was splayed on his side, still breathing heavily. He squinted, seeking the face of the one who would decide so much of his mission. Akasugi.

But before he could completely regain his faculties, the man turned. New arrivals streamed in, and they were dragging a body with a mane of silver hair. There was a waiting wooden pillar with a cross section hammered firmly into the hard-packed ground. It was here they took this new captive, elevating the limp body to secure his arms, spread-eagled.

Some consciousness seemed to be creeping back into the unfortunate as they finished. One shinobi tore away his hitai-ate and mask, and the eyelids flickered. Akasugi turned from the chuunin's growing horror and faced his other captive, saying, "Hatake Kakashi." The man in question looked up, dazedly, with one black and one red eye.

Iruka panted behind the broad leader, stricken. Without thinking, he wailed, "What have you done?"

* * *

Kakashi was, for many reasons, _not_ a shinobi regularly engaged in reconnaissance.

This could have been blamed on his physical incompatibility with the role, or Tsunade's scathing complaints about his complete lack of subtlety. Yet when it came down to it, the issue was really one of personality. Because in a way completely unique to Umino Iruka, Kakashi was also a guardian.

And he could no sooner sit by and watch a teammate perish in a hopeless battle than he could deny his own name.

So he'd monitored Iruka's progress as he neared the compound, had seen the moment he'd alerted the border guard. They'd gone after him like ghosts while he slunk, unaware, and Kakashi had been moving even before the first blow fell, out of the shelter with every intention of lending what help he could.

He never made it to Iruka. The terrain was unfamiliar, and he hadn't expected to be intercepted. His _many_ had been altogether _too_ many. He knew that he'd killed, but ultimately he was overwhelmed. He'd regained consciousness just in time to see Iruka, bound amidst a funnel of enemies, and hear his despondent cry. For a moment Kakashi's senses had burned, overloaded with details. Then, belatedly, he felt the breeze's bald chill against his lips and the lids of both eyes and realized someone had removed his mask and cowl. A surge of suddenly comprehensible information followed. He was a prisoner.

His attention was drawn inexorably to a tall shinobi standing near Iruka. He was old; mid-forties perhaps, with stiff salt-and-pepper hair. He wore spectacles. Yet the air around him was charged with authority. He was unquestionably in charge.

At his side stood another man, younger, with rich brown eyes and a braided cord around a neck that was as slender as the rest of him. His face split when he grinned, and inwardly Kakashi recoiled. His charka was a miasma of oppressive smoke, foreboding.

A flock of young men made up the remaining lives. With a few exceptions, most looked just out of their teens. Some others were barely more than children.

A swaying boy with wet eyelashes was brought before the leader, clenching his forearm to his chest. His perspiring skin went pale as his leaders examined the tiny bones of his wrist. Kakashi saw the blood on his lips from his own teeth, but he remained still until his master's was finished.

Finally, the chieftain sighed. Kakashi saw him briefly pass one large hand through the young shinobi's abbreviated hair, a comforting gesture that his charge lapped up greedily. Shrewd, the jounin thought. But then, these kinds of leaders were always charismatic.

"What guests, these shinobi of Konoha," the leader began. His voice was an unexpectedly full baritone, like the sound of hollow wood when struck by a hammer. He retrieved one of the vests his men had stripped from their captives and riffled through the pockets. "The savage kills and the inexpert one maims."

From the ground, Iruka growled softly – dissention, insult. It won the chieftain's attention, and he pivoted to stand over his body. Cloudy grey-green eyes pierced this lesser captive. "Did you have something to say, Konoha?" he challenged, unrelenting steel.

For a moment Iruka sat mute, twisting his bound wrists. Then he struck out like a snake with the heel of his foot, aiming to shatter the leader's shin. The powerful man narrowly avoided it, but even as he did his own foot was rearing back to deliver a punishing blow. The force of it across Iruka's jaw was enough to stagger him, and while he lay in the dirt the leader followed though with another brutal kick to the chest. Two men pinned him as he retched for air, dragging him back upright.

"Spirited," the slender man who had been standing nearby was grinning. He folded his arms, as though to cover a twitch of pleasure.

The former forced Iruka's chin up with the toe of his boot, grim. "Also slow, incompetent, and quite possibly stupid." He looked at the chuunin long and hard. "I don't know you," he said finally, then lowered his foot. Dismissively, he ordered, "Tie up his legs."

Kakashi became the new target of the man's interest. "But I do know you, Hatake Kakashi, though I haven't seen you since you were a child. I admit that I'm surprised to see you here."

"He set off the border alarm, Akasugi-sensei," one of the young men offered in the waxing pause, and Kakashi cursed himself. Intent as he had been on the existing fight, he hadn't considered such a thing.

The insurgent chieftain examined him. "We knew about the little fish, but you were unexpected," he said – _Akasugi-sensei_ said. "What are you doing sniffing around with an unqualified mid-ranker? What are you doing here?"

What do you know of us; that was what he really wanted to know. But the truthful answer was 'nothing' and Kakashi knew they wouldn't accept that.

"We've cleared the parameter," the brown-eyed man informed Akasugi. Others came behind him, hauling another stake, and soon the throb of a mallet against wood became ambient in the background. One of the shinobi took Iruka unceremoniously by the hair and dragged him towards it.

Akasugi, meanwhile, was clearly displeased. "Of course he says nothing," he spoke to the man overseeing the work. "Will you convince him, Kabano?"

The other barely spared Kakashi a glace. "Him? No. He'll never speak." Instead he massaged the cuff of Iruka's shoulder, almost caressingly. His grin was a tight black curl. "This one will be softer."

"_Hatake Kakash_i," the chieftain swore. "Nothing good will come of this."

His second, however, remained unimpressed. "So they're here. What does it matter now?" Kabano asked. Kakashi had always thought of brown eyes as being warm, but this man's were like pebbles, flinty and hard. "The question is what shall we do with them?"

"Kill them," one of the watching shinobi said. "Kill them and be done with it."

Akasugi growled low. "Kill. I have a champion of Konoha in my hands and that's all you can say?" He stared Kakashi down fearlessly, straight into the whirling red current. The sharingan itself seemed to remind him of something. "They say it was transplanted once," he murmured.

Sardonically, Kakashi warned him, "You wouldn't like it. It's _way_ more trouble than it's worth."

Akasugi actually seemed to give this some consideration, contemplating his silver-haired captive as he thoughtfully stroked a pale scar on his chin. "We'll see," he finally decided.

Kabano was also looking contemplative. He said, "I know some dealers who would pay an unbelievable sum even for his body."

A knife was drawn somewhere in the ranks, a mirror in the flames, and bright with death. "What are we waiting for then?"

"Better if he didn't rot," Kabano shrugged.

Brow furrowed, Akasugi stood motionless. The spider webs at his eyes and creasing his mouth spoke of hard earned experience. He wouldn't be hasty. Narrow-eyed, he said, "I need to think."

* * *

Sometime later, when even the faintest rustling beyond the curtain of tents had ceased, Kakashi stretched his straining muscles and called quietly for Iruka. The chuunin was crouched where they had left him, his arms twisted into an awkward bunch at his back. His ankles had been secured too, so that he couldn't relieve the pressure on his calves or back. It was a submission position, designed to cause pain.

The use of such a technique further convinced Kakashi that the men they were dealing with were deeply formidable adversaries. The tracks of it where everywhere – in the military precision of their dwellings, in the hardness of their eyes when they brought in the bodies of their comrades. In the careless brutality with which they had treated Iruka, too. And the brown-eyed man, Kabano, had the aura of an experienced interrogator.

These were demoralizing thoughts.

Even from his position some distance away, the copy-nin could see the slight tremor in Iruka's legs; a short convulsion of the muscle, like a twitch, that made him stiffen completely. But Iruka was a good shinobi. He was silent.

Kakashi called to him again, a little more fiercely, "Answer me, Iruka."

A sudden clacking of stones drew his attention. Two boys stood at the rim of the tent-light, young, but baring the soldier-mark boldly across their foreheads. They were picking through the little pebbles, flicking them at the spot where Iruka was restrained.

The chuunin lifted his head, looking back at them. "Ah," he rebuked gently. "It's too cold for you two to be out here without your jackets."

It should have been ridiculous for a prisoner, bound almost naked and trembling barefoot, to say such a thing. An adult would have boggled. But these were children. "We weren't gonna stay long," the smaller one called, just loud enough to be heard. The other quirked his hips, "Yeah, and yer not the boss of me!"

Yet despite the tough declaration, both youngsters drifted closer to Iruka, closing the distance until they were right at his knees. Why, Kakashi couldn't figure, unless they were drawn there, eased by his tranquil expression.

"Are you a bad guy?" the smaller boy asked Iruka. He had dusky eyelashes and freckles, and didn't look much older than an academy graduate. "Akasugi-sensei said that you were."

"Probably I am," Iruka agreed, nodding.

The children didn't seem much affected by this assertion. The other boy reached out tentatively to brush the chuunin's pigtail back and forth with a skinny hand. They, like most of the men Kakashi had seen that day, had close caps of hair, shorn to almost identical length. The child tugged out Iruka's sagging band, and his hair fell in an untidy ruffle over his shoulders.

The teacher gave a little puff, trying to part the curtain before his eyes. "Thank you," he told them. "My neck is much warmer now."

The smaller boy giggled until his companion gave him a shove. "Stop fraternizing," he chastised. Which didn't stop _him_ from carefully stoking some of Iruka's bangs to the side, just behind one ear. He commented, "It must have taken a long time for it to get so long."

Iruka endured their fascination patiently, confirming with a awkward shrug. "A while," he answered, grimacing as his muscles gave an involuntary twinge. He attempted to shift against the ropes. The flash of pain, though, had disturbed his guests.

They fidgeted uncomfortably. "Does it hurt?" one asked.

"Just a little," Iruka said, his head ducked so his eyes were shielded.

"Sitting outside like that without your clothes isn't very smart," he was informed.

The teacher smirked and managed a low chuckle. "Very true," he agreed. "You'll have to mention it to Akasugi-sensei for me."

A sudden shift in the breeze brought the sounds of other people wafting from the tents. Both boys jerked a little at the reminder brought by the voices, as though caught being disobedient. They looked over their shoulders, unsure.

"You should go inside before you get in trouble," Iruka offered kindly.

The older child was nodding. He tugged at his friend, who seemed unwilling to leave the teacher's side. Some little dawning was there in his young face, some realization. Hesitating against the drag of his companion, he drew off his scarf. "So you don't get too cold," he explained as he wrapped it around his enemy's bare neck. One last conflicted look, and then the two of them left, drawn back to the light and their true affiliations.

"Corrupting the youth already, are we, Sensei?" Kakashi accused when they were gone.

Iruka snorted, and blew again at his tangled bangs. "I wish they hadn't pulled my hair down," he commented. "Now they'll probably cut it."

The jounin wondered at his companion's priorities, but didn't say that they probably had more serious concerns. The reality was obvious without discussing it. "It kills me that little children like you so much. Is it some kind of jutsu?"

"Maybe a bloodlimit?" the chuunin joked, but he was shaking his head. "They can tell you like them, that's all."

"Like dogs," Kakashi commented, intrigued by the comparison.

He didn't have to see Iruka to know he was rolling his eyes. "Something like that," he said, and then they both went quiet.

But Kakashi was too glad to finally hear Iruka's voice to stay silent for long. "It's interesting that they call him 'sensei,'" he commented thoughtfully.

"Not really." There was a grim smile in Iruka's voice, even if Kakashi couldn't see it. "What bond is stronger than between a father and his children? Between a master and his students? No doubt he saved them all from something, even if it was only their fear."

Kakashi considered it, remembering the fierceness of his own loyalty to past teachers. "He said he knew me," he remembered. Somehow, Akasugi was connected to Konoha.

Iruka agreed wearily. "I almost know who he is. But it won't matter for long."

Disturbed by the darkness coloring his words, Kakashi requested, "Iruka, tell me what's going on here."

The chuunin bowed his head. "You shouldn't have come, Kakashi."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

The morning came both too soon and excruciatingly slowly. By the first dusky light, Kakashi's body was burning. Shoulders, legs, back. All his muscles strained from the awkward position, but he was lucky. His stake had obviously been sized for Iruka – he could plant more of his feet on the ground than its architect intended.

He'd slept poorly, but came easily awake at the first trickling of waking-up sounds and the waft of cooking. The smell made his insides lurch simultaneously with both hunger and nausea. Akasugi approached them amidst the soft murmur of domesticity. They were an easy pace from the tents, but even so near it seemed like a separate, barren world. His shoes had been taken, along with almost everything else he carried, and his toes were numb against the packed dirt.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the chieftain addressed Iruka first, fingering the coarse cloth that he'd been gifted. "Did you make some friends last night?" he asked, uncoiling the scarf. "I spoke to them about it. They said you were a very nice enemy. They compared you to me, even; something about your smile. I was surprised to hear of you smiling. It upset Kabano too. He'd hoped you'd be feeling more pliable this morning."

Iruka refused to answer; he wouldn't even look at the village leader. The passivity convinced Kakashi there was something purposefully deceitful in Iruka's behavior, since the chuunin was nothing if not defiant. The Iruka he knew would not timorously turn away, or seem so close to tears. The Iruka he knew was a fool – and fearlessly so.

But whatever the reason for his act, Akasugi had no reason to doubt it. "Who are you?" he wondered. "That you would humor my children is strange. Perhaps you're a father? Do you have a child at home that I'll be orphaning?" He didn't seem surprised when Iruka said nothing. "Kabano will find out." He said it like a promise, or maybe a threat. "Will you not simply tell me?"

"Ha, don't bother, Akane." Another voice joined them. Kakashi looked up at the sound of the crunching steps, loud against the thin veneer of frozen dew. It was the dark haired, brown-eyed man. His braided cord swung on his neck, and the jounin noticed that it was dissected by a bright copper link. He continued, "You have many strengths, but interrogation was never one of them. Better you stick with stirring up men's courage than trying to defeat it."

Akasugi nodded to the newcomer. "Should I keep the other's away?"

"Let them watch if they like," Kabano said, indifferent. His eyes were bright, almost feverish, and they had settled like serrated hooks onto Iruka.

An uncomfortable shift. "Perhaps I'll send the boys on a training exercise."

"You baby them," the interrogator retorted, almost scornfully. "But if you intend to, do it now. I'm ready to get started."

Kakashi measured this chieftain's action with interest. He didn't looked pleased, only resigned. "Be quick," he commanded.

His second stretched his hands, his fingers, approaching Iruka slowly. "If I can," he said. "One never knows with untested metal."

Cold twisted in Kakashi's chest, a physical revolt against what he knew would happen. Almost involuntarily, his hands twisted in their constraints, but the carefully knotted ropes only gave enough to rake his skin away.

The interrogator greeted Iruka with a nettling familiarity, "Hello, little one," he said. It should have been ridiculous for him to call Iruka that, since they were roughly the same size. Still, Iruka knew the slur for what it was, and his expression bunched, pale with anger.

The interrogator touched his jaw gently, stroked several joints, and then returned to where his heartbeat surely pulsed strongly in his neck. He frowned when his subject drew away from him as far as he could, his expression almost hurt. "Now," he soothed, drawing out a blade. "Now, now. No need to be troublesome about this. It can be very simple. Only a few questions. I'm nice to people who answer me well. You have my promise."

He drew the pad of one finger across the pale scar over Iruka's nose. "A nice mark. Did someone put it there? You carry it very well. I could add," he trailed off, and for a moment it seemed as though he might. Iruka's rate of breathing picked up, but there was no where for him to go.

Angry, Kakashi snapped, "Leave him be!"

The eyes that flickered up to him were dead cold with displeasure. The man said, "This is none of your affair," and then his knife flashed.

Through the rope that bound one of Iruka's arms. Had they tied them separately? Iruka swayed and almost certainly would have toppled if his remaining limbs had not still been anchored. Kabano snapped up his loose wrist immediately, allowing Iruka's brief struggle. With his free hand, he placed his palm firmly against the rotator cuff, chaffing the bare skin, or perhaps feeling the smooth movement of the bone and muscle there. He hummed, a contented sound, as though the mechanics of the body pleased him.

Then he leaned closer, speaking directly to Iruka. "We'll start with something small – hardly valuable at all. Name and rank."

Kakashi was glad he couldn't see Iruka's face, but his back was enough. Rigid. He could almost imagine his chocolate eyes, dilated with fear. The moments drifted like perspiration on a glass, and a hollow wind breathed voicelessly. Kabano's gaze intensified. "Nothing?" he finally asked, and shook his head. "That's too bad."

Iruka's arm broke with a dry sound like stepping on a dead branch.

He screamed – of course he screamed, but it was more a breathless keening than a true cry. "What a sound," Kabano said in a whimsical voice. He took the awkwardly hanging arm almost delicately, then wrenched it with a violence made even more brutal by the contrast.

"Stop, stop." There were tears draining freely down Iruka's face now. He twisted desperately, in spite of the pain. "Stopstopstop."

Kabano was a vice. "Oh, little one, don't tease me," he crooned. "That's pretty, but it's not what I asked for."

The interrogator's eyes fluttered, landed on Kakashi. "You know," he said, leaning in to whisper to Iruka conspiratorially. "I bet he knows more than you. But it would take a long time to find out. Or would it? Shall we see?" He addressed the hostile jounin, "Hatake Kakashi, do you care if I hurt your comrade? How valuable is his name to you?"

He reached for Iruka again, feeling the firm arches of bone lined up against his side. Quietly, almost distantly, he commanded the copy-nin, "Give me his name."

Jounin were trained to withstand torture, even against acts like this when a proxy stood in their stead. But even so, even though he was nothing if not capable of withstanding any technique of this twisted mind, his heart cried out with his need to help Iruka. He wanted to give up what Kabano wanted. But this was no option. How valuable was Iruka's identity? Invaluable. So he gritted his teeth.

The impression of incredible force, holding and twisting even through flesh. Iruka howled, and Kakashi thought he could actually see the blood draining just beneath his skin; ink, blotchy blue, like a tattoo over his side. Kabano broke three more ribs that way – methodically, barbarously – before he was satisfied the jounin would stay silent. Iruka trembled.

Kabano stood after that, obviously disappointed. "Spirited, like I said," he muttered, and took hold of Iruka abruptly, dragging him sideways against the wood and the rope so that the two prisoners could see one another fully.

Kakashi surveyed the chuunin with some anxiety. He was yellow with pain, and the new position had placed him in an even more unsteady and painful crouch. His shoulder was awkwardly rotated in the cuff, bulging slightly. The arm itself hung completely slack, the fingers limp and useless.

Kabano approached Kakashi, who looked down on the man with disdain and a slow burn of rage. "Will you try me now?" he asked without inflection or fear. Anger shielded him.

"Only for a moment," the other answered. He'd regained his knife, a longer, thinner blade than most shinobi carried. It glinted, surgically sharp. "I wonder if you two are friends, or if you held him in contempt as legends are prone to do with their inferiors. I wonder if he'd save you?"

He called Iruka, waited for the dark of his eye. "Name and rank," he repeated, and sliced into the tender meat. The blade cut like a strigil down Kakashi's arm, but Iruka remained mute as a stone. Kabano sighed, clearly disappointed. He flicked his weapon, so that it left thick red beads across Kakashi's face. "Seems you were less kind to him than I hoped. Too bad."

Yes, too bad. Too bad for them both. The interrogator whipped his blade clean as he stood between them. An unusual flush of color had crept up his neck and blotched his cheeks. At first Kakashi thought it was annoyance that his prey had not yielded, but then he heard the breathy laughter. Kabano's shoulders shook. "This is unexpected, because it's not exactly that you're afraid of me, is it, little one? No, though you'd like me to think so, and that's intriguing too. But it's not what keeps you silent."

More soft laughter. Past the burning in his own arm, Kakashi sought Iruka's face. He was staring at Kabano with dread. The man nodded to himself. "This requires a more deliberate attempt," he decided.

* * *

Kakashi's face was a pale oval in the pervading dim, visible even under cloud cover and starless night. Often in the past he'd cursed his complexion for how hard it made him to hide, and now he scorned it because he knew his captors were watching them from their tents. The vulnerability nettled.

Ensconced at his own pole, Iruka shone too, but dimmer. Kakashi could barely hear him breathing, and he hadn't responded when the jounin spoke to him, though he didn't know whether it was total refusal that made the chuunin silent or if he was just so hurt that he'd buried inward.

Kakashi didn't know any poetry, so he recited his favorite chapter from volume 4 of Icha Icha Paradise to fill the void between them. He'd have given a lot to hear Iruka tut, but the frosty stillness remained the same all through the night.

* * *

It snowed sometime during the morning's early hours.

Kakashi woke up to a hundred pinpricks like soft, fleeting kisses from icy lips. Flakes had caught on his eyelashes, and he blinked slowly through them, disoriented. It took a long moment for his consciousness to reconnect with his body, and when it did the attachment wasn't kind. His muscles seized and his stomach clinched, leaving him trembling all over. A red lichen of frost traced his inner arm, so that the warmth of new blood trailing his skin was almost welcome.

He sighed when the worst had passed, letting his eyes drift closed and his body still. All around him was the insulated calm of a yet unspoiled snow-fall. It was early yet, and no one was up.

It made it easy to hear the voices when they drew near, and he lapsed into a carefully feigned unconsciousness. Crunching against the frozen ground were two sets of footfalls. He recognized the voice that spoke first – Kabano, the malicious tormenter, with his smooth, unbothered tone.

"We're not strong enough to keep him here safely," he said. "Every moment he remains grows more dangerous for us."

The object of their conversation became quickly clear. They halted in front of Kakashi, undoubtedly looking up at him as they spoke. It was Akasugi who responded; this was a meeting of the village's two minds. "Imagine what information we could gain from him," the leader began.

His second hissed. "No. Trust me in this. Alive, he's almost useless. We don't have the time or the right pressure to glean anything from his mouth."

"You don't have confidence in your own abilities?" the chieftain needled, but with a vein of bitterness.

The other answered, "I'm a pragmatist. And we have other options."

There was a break in the conversation then, and Kakashi imagined them gazing towards their other prisoner. When they continued, the steely elder was questioning. "You're sure we can sell him?"

"His body, at least, and we don't have a choice. We can't move past our capabilities, Akane. We have to build patiently. It's _your_ plan."

"Yes, yes I know."

"So you agree?"

A deep hum resonated in the empty air. "Mm. Make your contacts, then," he finally decided. "So long as you're sure about the little fish."

The interrogator's voice darkened. "Give me a day and a night. Lend me some men."

A soft exhale. "Kawa –"

But the younger man would have none of it. Snappishly, he reminded, "You knew what you conscripted me for, Akane. And we didn't get here by being weak."

Another brief silence, and the discussion returned to Kakashi. "You still don't know what Hatake was doing here?" Akasugi asked.

"Does it really matter anymore?"

"It does if there are others," Akasugi said.

But the interrogator was sure. He explained, "We found their camp last night. There was only evidence of two."

"Belongings?" asked the leader.

"Sparse, and nothing interesting. Food, blankets, a couple of books. I showed you the card." Iruka's card. The ribbon-and-glue original, the talisman from his children.

"Cute, but not informative."

"Exactly."

Another sigh. "Albright," he agreed. "Do what you have to, then, but get Hatake out of the cold before you start. If he perishes from the elements, he'll be worthless to any end, and I'm disappointed enough by the options we have. A legendary jounin – and I'm forced to sell him in pieces."

A pivot and a scrape of displaced snow as their village's leader paced steadily away. Kakashi was left with the butcher, silent now and possibly contemplative. Kabano chuckled when a moment had traced it's path, and it was a poisonous sound, mocking and ugly. He said, "You can open your eyes now, _Hatake_. I know you're awake."

Kakashi bore his teeth at the creature before him. Quietly, he whispered, "Carrion-eater, bottom-feeder."

The man placed his hands on his hips. "Says the bone-cruncher, vein-slasher," he retorted coolly. "I'm unimpressed if your intention is to shame me, murderer of Konoha."

"Better to be a hunter than a pig rutting in blood," Kakashi sneered.

It must have cut a little closer to the heart, because the man's smooth face actually frowned. "You know," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry we don't have more time to spend together. It would be a good experience for me. Challenging. Unfortunately, it wouldn't do to spoil the meat." He looked over his shoulder to the right, where the other pole stood. A shallow drift of snow had shored up it's base and the figure there, motionlessly curled. The image returned some of the pleasure to the face of their captor. "Happily there is an alternative."

"What do you expect from him?" Kakashi fought the spike of fury that threatened his impassivity. Fingers twitching, he longed for the use of his hands.

A casual shrug. "Whatever he holds close. Whatever secret he has. I'll start with his name and work from there," he said. Then, more perceptively and much more cruelly, he taunted, "After all, if he's traveling on a mission with such an impressive companion, surely there's something more there than appearance suggests."

Guilt, grief, helplessness. Kakashi burned with it, furious. There weren't insults foul enough to express how he felt, so he pressed it all into his eyes, glaring wrathfully.

"How frightening," his tormentor commented. Then he called for others. Orders were issued, for the fate of both men. Unable to do anything, Kakashi watched them untie Iruka and haul him out of a half-frozen rigor. The chuunin cried out when they pulled him to his feet, too weak from the strain of his position to support his own weight.

Kakashi waited for the moment when they would remove his fetters to bring him indoors, but was disappointed. They simply pulled up the whole stake and dragged him into a solitary tent. Then he was left to his own thoughts. Waiting for his own slaughter, whenever it would come.

* * *

For two days, Kakashi had only the discomfort of his own body to break the monotony of the hours. Destined for death, his captors deprived him of even water. He was growing restless and desperate by the end of the second day, but the only noticeable result of his fitful, sporadic attempts to get loose was numbed fingers and abraded flesh.

His thoughts turned to Iruka at odd moments. He had Kabano's thin face in his mind, and his curling black smile. He wasn't a fool; he knew what Iruka faced. And it made him ache strangely to think of the chuunin suffering.

He knew when the sun went down because the temperature dropped and a lantern was lit at his back. It made the murky interior of the tent seem sinister and claustrophobic. The shadows shrunk inwards, and it was quiet. The rustle of canvas was the most he heard, and the low voices of his guards, speaking through the entrance behind him.

It was sometime in the grey of earliest morning when his ears pricked at a scraping, like a foot dragging over the ground. The interior guard called his friend's name softly, but even as he spoke a soft gurgle cut him off. A gentle thud, a sound like weeping, and then bare footsteps in the enclosed space.

Kakashi started at the feel of a hand at the triangle of his bare back, jerking at the sudden intrusion and unfamiliar heat. Still, there was no where for him to go, and when the hands reached up again, this time to his bound wrists, he craned his neck, trying to see who was behind him.

"It's me, Kakashi," a soft voice answered him. Clumsily, fingers picked at the ropes, tightened almost impossibly from the strain. "Hold still. I can barely reach."

"Iruka?" He was astonished. His breathy whisper stumbled over a swarm of disbelief. "H-how –" Kakashi was forced to swallow; his throat was so dry. "How are you here?"

No answer. His left hand came free with a lurch, and then a flood of fire down the length of his arm distracted Kakashi from further inquiry. His knees gave out when his body was finally loosed, and he slid down, breathing deep and waiting for his heartbeat to revive his limbs. Iruka slumped beside him against the wooden pole.

Kakashi plied his body, stretching and rotating. He clinched his teeth against the pop of bones and hesitating joints. "Iruka?" he said when he could focus outside his own body again. He turned, grunting, and sought the chuunin in the dim light.

A numb curl of horror wound itself up in Kakashi's chest, seeing the damage done. They'd cut his hair, as he'd suspected they would. It was uneven and looked almost torn, as though someone had ripped at it bare handed or sawed it with a blunt blade. He trembled there, filthy and so, so hurt, nerves that had never relaxed quavering still in real or remembered anguish. His face was streaked with weals of blood.

Acting on some innate human impulse, Kakashi reached out, touching the chuunin's shoulder almost gently to draw his eyes. "Iruka," he called the young man, worried by the feeble pulse beneath his fingers. He felt the blood-heat radiating beneath sweat-slick skin, heavy fever. "Iruka," – _How did you get here? –_ "can you stand?"

Brown eyes. Deep brown, like tawny hide or warm chocolate – that was Iruka's eyes before. Now phantoms of them vessels peeked out, half-lidded and hollow. Staring stagnant, he barely looked conscious. Kakashi had to use a very ninja perception to hear the tiny wisps of breath he was taking. Because he was alive.

Iruka recoiled slightly from Kakashi's seeking hand, and his face creased. "I'm alright," he whispered unconvincingly; he struggled to find his feet. "When you're ready, we can leave."

Leave. When had that option stopped sounding plausible? Kakashi levied himself up and extended his exhausted senses. Somewhere in the days of featureless captivity he had stopped thinking about escape, but now it enlivened him. His fingers tingled, and he stretched them eagerly. Free, there was hope. Free, he could help them escape.

Iruka wavered at his back. "Kakashi." His voice seemed unnaturally calm.

The jounin took a step towards the front, alert, but when Iruka attempted to follow wearily, he stumbled. Kakashi looped his torso with one arm, lending his strength. He whispered assurances, "I'll get us out. You've done what you needed to."

"There's no need to be quiet," Iruka said. "It's over. They won't stop us from leaving anymore."

The bleakness that fell off of the chuunin's words deeply disturbed Kakashi. He sought answers in eyes that seemed reluctant to meet his own, but Iruka only pulled away again to limp past him through the entrance. Conflicted, Kakashi joined him, his nerves jingling.

There were two bodies slumped over the threshold, their jugulars raggedly cut. It was imprecise, yet effective. Iruka offered no explanation, but Kakashi noticed the blade clinched in the his hand for the first time.

Kakashi braced himself for attack as they moved further out into the open, but none came. Slumped bodies lay where sentinels should have stood, and the tents wavered in the whispering wind, utterly quiet. Kakashi stopped to peer inside one, and took in the carnage. The thrum of life was utterly absent from this place. He felt it now, and it made the air seemed colder than before.

Feeling empty, he turned to Iruka.

The chuunin was looking past him, at the limp young bodies. A silent dam of moisture lined his eyelids, though no grief fell. Kakashi could tell that Iruka mourned them. "They wouldn't have disbanded." The chuunin was shaking his head, heavy with regret. "Even if I killed their leaders. They were too cohesive, too close knit. They wouldn't have disbanded."

Slowly, Kakashi nodded. His tongue still seemed caught behind his teeth.

Iruka was shivering. When he spoke again, it was with a unique blend of honest weakness and a tonelessness that didn't suit him. "We have to clear the area, but…" He seemed to be sustaining himself on the very last of his endurance. Sounding exhausted, he requested, "Would you?"

The bodies had be destroyed, evidence that anyone associated with Konohagakure had been here eliminated. Kakashi had done such work before, many times. He understood what needed to be finished. And remembering Iruka's record with fire, Kakashi could only feel a strangely common-place relief that he hadn't attempted it alone.

* * *

By the time he had finished with the bodies, Kakashi had mostly figured what Iruka's mission had truly been. The clumsy visit to Shi-Tane, the carefully crafted vulnerability – it had all been a ruse. From the beginning, Iruka had intended capture.

He'd found Akasugi's body still sprawled across his bed; he hadn't even been awake to face his death. The whole of the village had been almost ritually slaughtered, murdered in their sleep and complacency. The only person who had been battle-marked at all had been in the furthest tent. There he'd discovered a slender male whose face had been brutally disfigured. But Kakashi still recognized the loose braid around his throat, and the little copper link – it was Kabano.

He'd almost been tempted to further mutilate the corpse.

Before he'd disposed of them, he'd stripped a few bodies for what they would need. Clothes for one, though the shirt he had pulled on seemed thinner than his own and smelled strongly of someone else. He'd had to help Iruka pull his on over his badly broken arm, an exercise that had left the chuunin pale. The cloth covered the worst of his injuries, however, and afterward the jounin saw him clinging to it gratefully. It was privacy; mental separateness.

Kakashi knew how he felt. The scrap of cloth he had tied over his eye itched and didn't stay firmly in place, but it would do for now. He'd found their name plates, but they'd been disfigured, bent inward and badly scoured. They were with him now, anyway, but tucked within their thin pack. Evidence; it would take too long for the metal to burn down.

They hadn't spoken about what happened, but there really wasn't any need. The reels of bodies had been enemies, and Iruka had been following orders. Orders that Kakashi would have fulfilled emotionlessly if they had been his own. Yet he realized that he wouldn't have been able to dismantle this village as a warrior. They had bared their own throat, mocking a vulnerable captive. And then Iruka had torn their throat out with his teeth.

"_Iruka, what are you so 'uniquely suited' for?"_

"_Surviving."_

Kakashi closed his eyes.

* * *

Before the first pale of morning, they were heading back towards Konoha. Kakashi felt a powerful relief to be out of the last vestiges of the insurgent compound. At the last, it had stunk of fire and the dead. That combined a strong, confused guilt and a profound memory of helplessness made every footfall he put behind them a pleasure. He hoped to never see it again, even in his dreams.

"I saw Kabano," he mentioned one night, early in their returning journey, when Iruka had still been mostly lucid.

Iruka tightened his jaw, drawing inward. "It wasn't an irrational rage," he ground out defensively, but his voice was a fragmented, coming-apart uncertain. It was a hurting-to-be-challenged voice.

Kakashi didn't want to challenge Iruka. Kneeling, he braced a deliberate hand against the other's shoulder. He assured, "Iruka, I'd have done the same to him. Worse, if I'd had my hands untied."

He was amazed how much the darkness receded in the chuunin as he spoke. Had the man really thought Kakashi would despise him for that?

Crumpling, Iruka grieved, "It's just so –" So against what he taught. So against who he was. Drawing his hands over his face, the teacher whispered almost too quietly to hear, "_Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite_," and swallowed hard on a sound like a choked-off sob.

Watching him, Kakashi felt a fierce burning lick his insides. What was Iruka doing here? He didn't belong on this mission.

After that night, Iruka had deteriorated quickly. He'd been significantly injured, visibly and in ways he refused to speak of. Traveling was hard on him, and it didn't help that Kakashi was at best a negligible medic. He knew field medicine – he had been able to set Iruka's arm, bind his ribs, and straighten his fingers. To fight the source of the fever, however, was beyond his ability. He couldn't prevent infection, or heal the wounds beneath the flesh. It was a reality that haunted him whenever Iruka's breath seemed to hitch, but if the chuunin was bleeding inside, Kakashi couldn't help him.

So he pushed for home, as quickly as he could force his own weary body. Before the end he was carrying his partner, who was by then off-and-on conscious. It seemed like it took a long, long time to get back, and Kakashi finally realized what Iruka had meant when he said it would be his responsibility.

* * *

Slipping past the gates of Konoha was like sliding through the lips of an oyster's mouth – from the dark into the dark on a hushed, sleeping midnight. He took Iruka to the hospital. It was surprisingly hard to leave the chuunin in the hands of the medic team. Survival instinct had long since kicked in, and Kakashi was reluctant to trust others. But by that time he was swaying on his own feet, hungry and hurt. So they were separated for a time.

Kakashi's dreams were full of dead-eyed children and Iruka dangling on strings.

When he woke, he shifted out of the narrow cot they had directed him to and wafted ghostlike through the sterile halls, seeking his former partner. Following the thin, unspectacular charka, he managed to wander into the surgical halls.

He wasn't sure whether it surprised him to find the Godaime waiting outside the double doors, peering inside with her hands clasped behind her back. She looked grave, but not distressed. He joined her, and they both stood for a long time, just looking through the glass.

"He'll live?" How did his voice sound so weak, Kakashi wondered. As if he cared much more than he should.

Tsunade looked surprised, too. She said, "You didn't know, did you? That blather you fed me about being closer to him and Naruto, that had nothing to do with why you wanted a mission with him."

"No," Kakashi admitted. "And you knew that."

"I suspected," she corrected. "Were you surprised?"

"I was stunned. Because it was him."

"Did you think that he was less of a shinobi than you, Kakashi?" Tsunade scoffed. "He's defiant, but not disloyal. And he's been participating in missions like this time for a long time."

Kakashi stored these words carefully away, in the file where his knowledge of Iruka daily grew. Then he remembered something the chuunin had said in the forest on the way back and took the opportunity to ask, "Do you think he's a hypocrite?"

The Hokage shook her head slowly. "No, I just think he's been too well trained to believe that what he teaches applies to himself."

"He is an assassin."

"Of a kind." Tsunade bent her head in assent, though Kakashi noticed her eyes never left the surgical team. "He's connected to intelligence, which is why you were supposed to take him to Ibiki. I know I included that in your mission notes."

"He was injured," Kakashi began, surprised at her almost rebuking tone. He shook his head. "He needed medical attention."

"He needed to complete his mission. You endangered him, you know, bringing him here. He wouldn't have been cleared to come to the hospital. The nature of his injuries should have remained classified, for his own good."

The gears of the jounin's mind were rotating. "The academy."

She nodded, distracted. "All of our shinobi involved in intelligence are unidentified to keep them from being compromised. But in Iruka's case it's particularly important. The nature of his missions upon occasion is such that the village's parents might push for his removal. And I think that might kill him. His position is unfair enough as it is."

"Why do you perpetuate it if you think it's so unfair?"

The Hokage's eyes were cold as fish eyes. "Close to fifty enemies were destroyed whose ultimate intention was to threaten this village. This was accomplished with no loss of life, and at minor cost. I would be a poor leader not to facilitate that kind of scenario."

Kakashi was drawn into the memories of snapping, uncertain breath, raging fever, and haunted eyes. And dead boys. He said, "The cost wasn't minor."

The Godaime didn't acknowledge that he'd spoken. Instead, she chose to answer his original question. "He'll live, Kakashi. Living is what he's good at, and you got him back in time." He turned to leave, but she called after him. "I'm sure you already know that you're bound to secrecy in this matter. It's your oath, Kakashi. I require it."

"Sworn."

"Good," she sighed, and sat down heavily in a nearby chair. "Now get out. The hospital is no place for the healthy."

* * *

It took Kakashi two weeks to redefine Iruka.

He'd realized that a kind of dichotomy had formed between his life as a citizen of Konoha and as a warrior of it. On one side stood meals at Ichiraku, frivolous competitions with Gai, foolishly grinning brats, and human emotion. Looming on the other side was everything that was the Field. Somehow before, he'd always placed Iruka firmly on the side of _citizen_, though now that he considered it, he didn't know why.

It was that lingering "_why"_ that eventually drove him to the academy grounds.

Disdaining the front door, he sauntered casually around the building and leapt into the branches. Crouching nimbly, Kakashi unlatched one of the large windows and slipped inside the mostly empty classroom. It was after hours, and so the children were gone.

Iruka looked up when he entered, the bridge of his nose furrowed. However, when he recognized his guest he actually grinned, looking surprised but not displeased. The sling was the first thing Kakashi noticed, and he grimaced inwardly. He'd heard about that, of course. The children leaked like cracked vessels: _'Sensei always manages to get hurt on his missions,'_ they'd tutted fondly.

Less uncertain about his welcome now, Kakashi's eyes roamed the classroom. It had the same benches crowded with spit wads, notes, and crumpled charka theory quizzes that he remembered. Iruka offered him his seat but Kakashi declined, choosing to perch against the desk instead. He offered his own smile. "Sensei. You look well."

Iruka beamed, an expression that seemed only a little shadowed. "I _am_ well. And back at work, finally."

"I heard," the jounin said. "Genma said there was nearly a riot."

"Not quite a riot," Iruka assured, cocking his head self-depreciatingly. "But the kids did seem glad to see me again." It couldn't be anything less than the truth. Substitutes had a way of being threatening to everyone's lives, and it was well known how beloved Iruka was by his children.

The dialogue broke comfortably in half then, and Kakashi took the opportunity to look Iruka over thoroughly. Mostly, there was nothing to see. The dark bruises on his face and jaw had faded. Someone had evened out his hair too, Kakashi noticed, though it still looked strangely short.

Iruka caught him looking and combed the back self-consciously with his fingers. "I'm still getting used to it myself," he admitted. "Naruto pitched a fit when he saw. He wanted to know who had butchered my hair."

"What did you tell him?" Kakashi asked. The question would have been awkward for him. He didn't know how to – or why one should – lie to children.

The chuunin grinned somewhat wickedly. "I told him I accidentally set it on fire."

Could such a thing possibly have happened before, or was Naruto more gullible than he thought? Kakashi tried to discern the answer somewhere in Iruka's face, but the teacher only shrugged noncommittally. Meanwhile, Iruka reciprocated his frank appraisal. "You look alright, Kakashi. I assumed since you weren't in the hospital, but then," he trailed off, shaking his head and smiling. "How is your arm?"

Without thinking, Kakashi's palm moved to press against his sleeve. The bandage had been removed more than a week ago, and all that was left now was a narrow pink line of healing skin from wrist to elbow. "It's fine," he assured. "Just a little scar."

Despite his dismissal, mentioning the injury had brought bad memories and his face mellowed. Iruka saw it, too. "What did you come for, Kakashi?" he asked.

To make sure you weren't dead. To see if you seem the same, after all that I know about you. And to Kakashi's shame, this last bit was closest to the truth. "To irritate you," he said instead, consciously echoing a conversation they seemed to have had a long time ago. Then, more candidly, he added, "Curiosity."

Iruka smiled at him tiredly. "You always did have a lot of questions, Kakashi."

The copy-nin took the gentle rebuff gracefully, rolling his shoulders and shifting his eyes in chagrin. It was his questions that had begun their journey together.

The teacher didn't leave him to scuff and fidget long. It didn't become the copy-nin, and anyway Iruka wasn't cruel. In fact, his current state of injury made him seem even more harmless. He carried vulnerability well – it made his face softer.

A quiet voice spoke in the back of Kakashi's mind, whispering, _'And isn't that why he functions so well?'_ To suffer; that was his job, but also to suffer well enough that his enemy did not kill him outright.

Emboldened by Iruka's steady gaze, Kakashi began. "I saw the manacles in Kabano's tent," he said. "And the table."

The wrong words for the right question. Iruka knew immediately what he asked. "They were easy to get out of," he said. "I had the key."

It confirmed Kakashi's suspicion. The little item that Iruka had put away. "The doppelganger," he sought confirmation.

"Yes. Just incase."

"And the rest of them went instead of us…"

"To be seen, yes." The chuunin nodded. "Just a little. Just enough that they'd realize someone was watching. If they hadn't known I was coming, they'd might have been too wary to let their guard down."

Though he didn't say it, the pregnant silence that followed condemned Kakashi. By attempting to help him, he had put Iruka at great risk.

Iruka must have sensed his guilt, because he sighed. "It's my fault too," he said. "I didn't have a right to hand out orders to you. I should have explained the danger better. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have gotten involved."

They were kind words; forgiving, willing-to-forget-about-it words. Except that Iruka had almost pleaded for his trust that night, and he _should_ have listened. Knowing better than to push the issue, Kakashi continued, "You led them into a snare."

"I helped them see what they wanted to see," Iruka clarified.

And then he'd killed them.

Kakashi knew how highly the teacher valued life, all life without exception. He tried to imagine how one could hold such conviction and still function as he had, but it was beyond him. He asked the question that had been gnawing on him for weeks, "Why do you accept the missions?"

Iruka answered, "A desk-working academy sensei shouldn't have to explain duty to the legendary copy-nin," he said, and his inflection was just a little cold.

This answer was clear enough. Choice often had little to do with their profession. A long time, Tsunade had said. Kakashi wasn't ready for that story.

"Not all of my missions are like that," Iruka volunteered, almost as though he were trying to comfort Kakashi. "And you know that I don't go on them often."

It amazed him, the differences between this gentle Iruka and the one who'd stood swaying outside the tents, clinching a bloody knife. Aloud, he mused, "Everyone sees you as this nice, polite teacher."

He had unintentionally trod upon a tender nerve. Drawing back in his chair, Iruka's expression became tight and guarded. "As opposed to what?" he demanded. "A masochist? A murderer of children?"

The jounin blinked. And suddenly he could see it – the little cracks crowded just beneath the surface of this man. The fissures that the bleakness had seeped out of on that early morning. The breaking apart. Kakashi realized suddenly that he'd been looking for signs of it throughout the whole conversation.

"Stop looking at me like that," Iruka snapped.

Then suddenly, the teacher stopped. Perceptive dark eyes took in the small hunch in the other's shoulders, the uncomfortable way that he'd lowered his eyes. Irritation drained form Iruka face, shifting to a slow realization. Leaning forward on his elbows, he asked, "Kakashi, did you come to check on me?"

The copy-nin scratched his silver mane moodily, unsure how to respond. It wasn't something he would have done before, but things had changed. Knowledge always did that.

Though he never answered aloud, Iruka seemed to come to his own conclusions. He sat back in his chair, just looking at Kakashi. A smile crept up on him then – a warm, coming-alive thing that hide away some of the unhappiness. Almost fondly, he accused, "You did."

Kakashi rolled his eyes. Had the two of them gotten closer? Maybe, or maybe not. But at the least they weren't as far apart as they had been. He poked at Iruka's bandaged arm.

"Ow," Iruka complained sourly.

Kakashi smirked. He teased, "Did I hurt your owie, Sensei? Shall I carry you back to the hospital?"

Fuming, huffing, and a little high color in the chuunin's cheeks. Living brown eyes flashed. "Why are you so annoying?" he demanded heatedly.

"Why are you so weird?" came the prompt response.

"Pervert."

"Prude."

"Murderer," the teacher said softly, so soft.

And Kakashi agreed, feeling the same ache. "That makes two of us."

* * *

Author's Note: Don't ask me to explain this story to you. It came out of nowhere, and I blame Kakashi. At the time I wrote it, I didn't find him a plausible second character for an Iruka story, since I couldn't imagine them getting along at all. Then it occurred to me that having characters get along is overrated, and in the course of writing, the two of them did _this. _It's not my fault they wanted to be friends – or whatever.


End file.
